


Caretaker

by TsarinaTorment



Series: International Rescue & Relief [6]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Fluff, Gen, Paper Cut, irrelief, pre-International Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:42:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23526337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TsarinaTorment/pseuds/TsarinaTorment
Summary: Scott’s week from hell couldn’t just finish without throwing him a final twist.
Relationships: Scott Tracy & John Tracy, Scott Tracy & Virgil Tracy
Series: International Rescue & Relief [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1671880
Comments: 1
Kudos: 26





	Caretaker

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gumnut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gumnut/gifts).



> A fanfiction written for #irrelief, using gumnut-logic's prompt "Paper cut"

Scott was exhausted. A long day wrapped up a long week the fourteen year old couldn't surmise any way other than 'hell', and he wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed, sleep for a week, and wake up to find that it was all simply a bad dream.

Alan had finally been wrestled into bed for the fourth time that night – he'd been graduated to a small bed not long Before and was desperately using his newfound freedom to do anything other than sleep in his own bed. Scott still wasn't sure he wouldn't find the toddler pottering around with the teddy clutched tightly in one hand when he finished his homework and headed up to bed himself. If Alan stayed in bed all night it would be a miracle.

Scott really wanted a miracle.

Gordon was also safely bundled up in bed for the night. He probably wasn't asleep, and Scott knew he'd have to check on him again before he finally turned in to make sure insomnia wasn't getting its claws into the young boy. The required bedtime story had already been read, but it wouldn't be the first time – or even the sixth time – that week he'd needed to read a second one, later, to lull him into the uneasy sleep they all shared now.

Virgil was still up, despite the late hour. Homework, he claimed, although Scott was sure schools didn't give _that_ much homework at Virgil's age – unlike the mountain he was facing. High school sucked normally. It sucked worse with no parents around and four younger brothers to look after. Grandma had promised she'd be there soon, but _soon_ wasn't _now_ and Scott could do with an adult _now_. He'd have to chivvy Virgil to bed, or he wouldn't go. Another lesson learnt too quickly during the week of hell.

John was in their room. Scott knew he wasn't asleep, but couldn't justify telling him to try. He was a light sleeper, and would just get disturbed when Scott finally collapsed into his own bed later. It was far from ideal; he'd tried sleeping on the sofa so he wouldn't disturb his younger brother, but that had backfired spectacularly when John had come down looking for him in the early hours of the morning, a distressed Alan in his arms and both brothers worried that he hadn't come up yet.

It was nearing midnight now, and his final report was more or less done. It was far from perfect, and he fully expected to be pulled up on it by his teacher for slipping standards, but if he didn't get to bed soon he wouldn't be able to handle Alan's early morning routine, let alone get breakfast ready for a sullen Gordon and manoeuvre all younger brothers to the right places of schooling for the day on time. Something had to give, and there was one thing less important than the rest at least for now.

He'd pick his grades back up when Grandma arrived, he promised. Or when Dad came back from space – they'd said he was coming back, but Scott knew enough from past missions to know that it could take months still.

A quiet, sharp exhale of breath shattered the silence of the house, and Scott froze. He knew that sound, had made it himself in the past. It was the sound of pain, specifically someone trying to conceal pain.

He shut off the computer. 00:02 glared accusingly from the clock, harsh red numbers scolding him for being awake – and for allowing a younger brother to still be awake. He buried his head in his hands, fighting tears of tiredness and frustration. Why couldn't the world give him a break? Not even a break, just a pause, a moment where responsibility after responsibility didn't come knocking. He was only fourteen, dammit. His friends were out playing soccer or running track before kicking back with a cool movie or even just hanging out at a house where parents provided free food while they competed in the latest video games.

He was stuck at home with four brothers under his care, waiting for the hammer of grief to finally hit him, and _now_ , after the worst week of his life, he was sitting at the kitchen table at midnight with some badly-completed homework and a brother in pain.

A brother in pain.

Scott dragged himself to his feet, heading through the barely-lit kitchen to find Virgil in the living room, surrounded by paper. An art project of sort, although Scott didn't remember ever having to do one that needed _quite_ so much paper. Then again, art had never been his best subject. His younger brother was sat in the middle of the carnage, finger in mouth and beads of moisture glistening in the corners of his eyes.

"Let me see," he said, picking his way through the papers and wobbling more than once in his journey to reach the injured boy without ruining any of his work. Virgil looked up at him with big brown eyes and didn't move. Scott sighed. He really didn't need the ten year old to be stubborn right now. "C'mon." Crouching down in front of him, he gently took hold of Virgil's wrist and coaxed the hand towards him, inwardly wincing at the saliva covered digit. It was bad enough coming from Alan, but at least the two year old had his age as an excuse.

"It's nothing," Virgil mumbled, trying to tug his limb back. Scott might have been tired, but Virgil was, too, and with four years on his brother and the onset of puberty, it was a losing battle for the younger. "Just a paper cut."

The admission didn't stop Scott from checking it thoroughly, paranoid that Virgil was wrong, or underplaying the wound. What if some ink had got in there, or glitter? What if it got infected and then Virgil got sick and-

No. He couldn't think like that. Not now.

"To the sink," he instructed, pulling Virgil to his feet with more force than strictly necessary. "A clean, a band-aid, and then bed."

"It doesn't need a band-aid," Virgil protested, but he followed along without complaint, patiently letting Scott hold his finger under a stream of water for a minute before patting it dry and pulling out a band-aid with planes stamped onto it.

"All done," he announced, throwing the annoying plastic strips into the bin and standing up. "Bed time." Without thinking, he held out his hand, waiting for his brother to latch on. After a moment, warm arms wrapped around his waist tightly.

"Thank you," Virgil said, voice muffled by Scott's chest. Tentatively, he allowed his arms to return the hug, tears he'd been fighting back for the last few minutes – hours, days, week – silently trickling down his cheeks. "You should to go bed, too." Virgil broke the hug, grabbing onto Scott's hand with his, band-aid rubbing against the eldest's fingers, and tugging him through the house and up the stairs, flicking lights off as they went.

He didn't pause at his own bedroom door but carried on past, nudging open the door to the room Scott shared with John – and Alan, as of the week from hell – and pushing Scott inside lightly.

"Night, Scott," he said, and Scott managed to respond in kind before watching Virgil retreat back to his own room, shared with Gordon – oh, he needed to check on Gordon again, didn't he.

John caught his arm when he tried to take a step back out of their room.

"You're dead on your feet, Scott," the ginger said bluntly, words punctuated by a yawn. "You'll give Gordon nightmares if you go in looking like that. Virgil can handle him for one night. Besides, Alan's asleep. Go to bed before you wake him up."

That wasn't right. He couldn't just _leave_ Gordon, ask Virgil to look after him when Virgil had a hurt finger. It was his job to look after his brothers now, at least until Grandma arrived. He'd promised her he could, that they'd be fine while she got her own affairs in order enough to make the move to them. But John had hold of him. It was a light grip, one he could break out of at any moment, but that was John. He didn't grip tightly, knowing that all that did was encourage Scott to struggle more.

A glance over at the bed pressed awkwardly into the corner, ill-fitting in the room but needed, and the sleeping toddler with the teddy clutched tightly under his arm defeated him. He closed the bedroom door, in case Alan woke and went wandering in the dark and fell down the stairs and-

John guided him to his own bed and he collapsed onto it, not bothering to shed his day clothes and barely yanking the blankets to cover him before exhaustion came to collect what few hours of sleep he would be afforded before Alan woke with the sun and the next day from hell began.

**Author's Note:**

> IRRelief is an amazing idea and bless Gumnut for coming up with it! For those that don't know, it's a collection of prompts anyone can add to and use on tumblr, with a focus on fluff, to give us something to do while we're stuck indoors. [Full details are here](https://nutty.gumnut.net/irrelief/)


End file.
